The Sweet Kiss of Adventure
by T. Z. Townshend
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a young lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Navy and while he's extremely good at what he does, the job has lost its luster and excitement. He dreams of fighting pirates and gets his wish sooner than any could have expected. Piratelock. Sherlolly.


**A/N: I've had the idea for this churning in my brain for a while now, but one of artbylexie's recent works gave me a mighty need to finally write it out.**

Sherlock Holmes was, according to many, to cleverest lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Navy. Those who knew him were aware that he shared this opinion of himself. However, his cleverness did not entail enjoyment of his job or the friendship of others. He was the younger son of a wealthy family and as such was sent out to be a junior officer at sea. It was the best option he had before him since he was too free spirited for any university to keep him, despite his scholarly mind. His parents hoped that the Navy would show him discipline and they were friends with certain distinguished officers, including the captain under whom he now served.

"You did well today, Mr. Holmes," Captain Lestrade told the young man of twenty at dinner one night. "Your plan worked perfectly and it was quite a pleasure to see the French turn tail and run." There was a broad smile on the silver haired man's face that only one of the other lieutenants shared. Mr. Watson was, besides the captain himself, Sherlock's only friend and the only fellow officer who treated him with any particular kindness. He chalked it up to the first lieutenant being in awe of his brilliance. He could not believe that anyone could just like him.

"Thank you, sir," Sherlock responded, giving the polite response that Watson had ensured that he learnt in his first week aboard the _Yard_. The lieutenant gave him an appreciative nod and raised his wine glass.

"To Mr. Holmes and his excellent powers of observation and strategy." A toast in his name was perhaps the last thing someone with such an ego needed, but he got one all the same. Sherlock noted that Mr. Anderson participated out of sheer desire not to incite the wrath of the captain. Typical.

Despite the day's victory, Sherlock had to admit that the excitement of the navy life was wearing thin. Defeating the French seemed so easy now and the only reward he got at the end of the day was a glass of wine and a practiced smile. He'd consented to joining the Royal Navy with the idea that he'd be up against exciting an unpredictable people like pirates, but England had decided very soon after his assignment to have another damn war with France. Would things never change? Sherlock was starting to feel trapped by it all- the monotony of war, the utter lack of freedom he had to even speak his own mind without being flogged for it (he'd learnt all about that when he had arrived as a mere midshipman). He wanted something new, something challenging, or else he feared that his mind might suffocate and lead him to madness.

"What troubles you, Sherlock?" Mr. Watson asked, finding the young man out on deck, gazing at the stars after dinner.

"This ridiculous hat weighs on my head like an anvil," Sherlock quipped in reply. Being middle management didn't suit him at all. It meant that there were people he had to answer to and mundane tasks he had to undertake.

"Perhaps one day you will be required to wear a hat with gold braid and its ridiculousness will be outweighed by its entailed privilege," Watson returned with a laugh.

"Even that would not satisfy me." Sherlock's lack of humor wiped the smile from his friend's face.

"You're dreaming of pirates again, aren't you?" The was concern in the first lieutenant's tone as he spoke. He had never approved of Sherlock's wish to see pirates and as such, the younger man did not deign to reply. "Those thoughts are dangerous. You're encouraging yourself into recklessness, my friend."

"I have no need for you to exert authority over my thoughts, John Watson. I have had quite enough of that from this institution already, thank you," Sherlock snapped. He was much freer with his tongue in conversation with Mr. Watson, who never disciplined him for being frank in such circumstances. He had barely caught sight of the blond man's scowl before he turned on his heel and marched away to the solitude of his quarters. At least there he would be able to get some amount of thinking done without anyone breathing down his neck.

* * *

><p>Lieutenant Holmes was awoken earlier in the morning by the alarm that indicated an incoming hostile ship. Though he didn't dare get his hopes up, he hastily dressed himself and went up on deck to attend his customary position. In the early morning light, he could see the outline of a ship just before the horizon. Captain Lestrade handed him his spyglass, allowing him a better look.<p>

"Do you see what I see?" the captain asked, sounded none too pleased. Sherlock, however, was himself practically giddy at what he gleaned from his look. The other ship was not flying the colours of any sovereign nation. It was bearing a flag with a skull and anatomically correct heart on a black field. That could mean nothing but that they had encountered pirates at last. Law dictated that they had to pursue the vessel, so it was a sure thing that Sherlock would face them. His day had come at last.

"Yes. Indeed I do, sir."

"Hard to starboard, Mr. Dimmock. We'll run them down," Captain Lestrade ordered after giving a resigned sigh.

"We have more guns. We'll make quick work of her," Lt. Anderson commented and Sherlock scoffed.

"Don't be so hasty in your judgements, Mr. Anderson. Their ship is smaller and therefore lighter. We would easily destroy them broadside, but we shall have to catch them first. There is also the intelligence of her captain to factor into the equation. We lack the data to accurately assess the overall outcome of this encounter," the sharply featured young man shot back, unable to resist a smug smile when his fellow officer became somewhat flustered.

"That's enough, Mr. Holmes," the captain warned and Sherlock frowned. "Mr. Anderson, Mr. Watson, go below and prepare to direct fire."

"Sir," Sherlock objected. "With Mr. Anderson at the guns, we'll only make half our shots."

"I must protest!" Anderson interjected indignantly.

"Mr. Holmes, _please_. You will cease to speak to your fellow officers in such a manner or I will have you disciplined," the captain barked, irking Sherlock further. "I need you here to direct Mr. Dimmock. If these pirates turn out to be as quick as you think, I want you giving steering orders. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Sherlock replied, doing his best to keep attitude out of his tone before they all set to work.

The pirate ship came at them alarmingly quickly and the young naval officer noted the boldness of such a comparatively small ship taking on theirs. Clearly they believed they had some sort of significant advantage which warranted fighting rather than fleeing. Of course, they did not know that this British naval vessel had the most brilliant officer in the fleet aboard, so they could hardly put that into their calculations. Nevertheless, he could not wait to see what tricks these pirates had up their tatty sleeves. The thought had only just formed in his mind when he got to find out.

A bow mounted gun fired into their hull, causing the air to be filled with wood splinters and the screams of wounded crewmen. Another shot soon followed which tore through their main mast, further hampering the _Yard_'s speed. It brought a strange grin to Sherlock's face. It seemed that the pirate captain was a crafty one. The _Yard_ would almost certainly be boarded soon. They were not fast enough to avoid it. As always, Sherlock was quite right. Within minutes, the pirates were upon them and he drew his sword.

Sherlock was admittedly somewhat surprised to see that there were women among their numbers. Pirates tended to be a particularly superstitious lot. He had his answer as to why these ones were different when he caught sight of their captain. She jumped gracefully over the gap between the ships, her long, flowing brown hair and the tails of her maroon coat whipping behind her. Her elfin face told him that she could hardly be much older than he. She intrigued him already to the point where he had to admit to himself that he had never seen so beautiful a creature, especially when he engaged his blade with hers and found himself quite equally matched.

"You're not afraid to kill a woman," she observed with a grin, confirming to him his deduction that she and her crew were English (although he imagined that if he inquired, she would answer that she had no country).

"A woman who fights as my equal deserves to die as my equal," he responded with a smirk. He was slightly taken aback when he saw a blush in her cheeks. It was not a common thing for him to see a woman pleased by something that he had said.

"You will die an honorable man, sir," the pirate captain told him with a sad smile as their swords met again and again.

"I have no plans to die today, ma'am." Sherlock really didn't know what came over him in that moment, but found himself allowing the woman to back him into a corner, to force his blade from his grasp. She had her sword tip at his chest when he made his final decision. "Take me prisoner," he demanded and she paused.

"What?"

"Take me prisoner and make me one of your own."

"Why should I?"

"Because you don't want to kill me and because I would rather live free with you than spend another day as a naval officer." It took only a moment for the woman to make her choice.

"Very well, sir. I shall grant your wish, but I must make you unconscious for this next part." It was a request for permission. Dear lord, what had done to earn such respect from a pirate lady? He grinned and gave her an affirmative nod. She then struck him across the head with the pommel of her sword and all went black.

* * *

><p>Sherlock Holmes came to in what he could only assume were captain's quarters and not those on the <em>Yard<em>. Looking about, it became clear to him that this was a woman's living space. He'd been successfully taken by the pirate lady then. There was an acute pain in his head where he now recalled that he had been hit. Despite that, he smiled. One of his fondest dreams had come true. He was to be a pirate now.

"Ah, you're awake," the captain herself stated as she came in an saw him. "How is your head, sir?"

"I've had much worse and there's no need to call me sir, captain," Sherlock replied. What an unusual woman she was. Outside of battle, her disposition was sweet and she maintained her respectful treatment of him.

"You misunderstand. I only call a man 'sir' if I like him." Well, this woman was certainly full of surprises and that further endeared him to her. "What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Welcome aboard the _White Raven_, Mr. Holmes. I'm Captain Molly Hooper." She offered him her hand to shake and he gladly accepted. "I confess that you might not find here what you would look for in a pirate vessel. I keep a clean ship and our wants are knowledge and freedom, never piles of gold. We take only what we need and never kill if we can avoid it." She looked at him as if she were waiting for him to spew outrage, but he only grinned.

"If that's true, I could not have landed myself on a better ship, Miss Hooper," he said and suddenly he found soft lips pressed against his own. His aquamarine eyes widened in shock and he froze up, entirely unsure what to do. Before he could even begin to figure out how to proceed, the captain pulled abruptly away.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Holmes. That was entirely too forward. Please forgive me." The redness in her face and lack of eye contact made it clear that she was ashamed of what she had just done. Sherlock suspected that she had been overcome by the same force which had compelled him to beg for a place with her.

"Yes, that was very forward, but I don't believe that there is anything in need of forgiving." He had admittedly enjoyed being touched by Captain Hooper. It was a new and fascinating thing, just like every other aspect this change in his life. He chose then to explore it in equal measure and reached out cautiously to touch her hand, only for her to make a small squeaking noise and scurry from the cabin.

Captain Molly Hooper was an enigma, but as with every other puzzle he had ever been presented with, he was determined to know her workings, to know _her_.

**A/N: If my brain says it's okay, I might write a followup oneshot.**


End file.
